


The Proud Heart

by helterskelter



Category: The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Angst, Blood, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Pining, Unrequited Love, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27208408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helterskelter/pseuds/helterskelter
Summary: Final moments between Achilles and Hektor. Unrequited love remains unrequited. Final invocations are made.(Drabble inspired by twitter prompt)
Relationships: Hektor/Achilles
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	The Proud Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveisaburning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveisaburning/gifts).



𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑚.

\- Homer, The Iliad

Donned in lover’s gleaming gore knowing guise, the once great warrior fell to his knees, flesh yielding to the sure shaft of enemy’s lance, lodged between shoulder and collarbone, rooting him to his core. It was from the dust he beheld the other, from defeat was he pulled closer than battle had ever brought them, though he could not feel the hands that held him closer still, one gripping the armour stolen as a sigil in, its mate clasping the spear stave near where it penetrated its foe. He was glad then of Athena’s deception, this moment not meant for his brother’s eyes - for any witness but the now distant gods, for any sound but final promises made between men and the faltering hammer of his heart. 

It had begun with talk of bodies stripped bare not to be defiled, their unrelenting and final cold soothed by the care of water and cloth, gentling the anguish of final moments and the knotted marks of war, respite and respect given after fated felling. It had begun with these oaths spurned, and yet it was no less comfort in this last battle, in tremoring way his soul clung to his body, to pain, that it was beneath this fleet footed hunter he finally found himself. Held. Helpless. In this he could pretend no hatred, there was not enough lifesblood left for pretense, even if the facade fell before blind eyes. Gods grant those eyes sight for but one moment - that would be mercy enough. Respite enough. 

Strange comfort came only in that blanket of Icareon ichor now freed wept in burning falls over once sun warm skin, unearthed from spear rent flesh to pour over collarbone and heart, leaving only the chill of fleeting moments in its wake. It was as nothing compared to the rage of the son of Peleus, the seering gaze that had long pursued him on the battlefield and in fine fury lured him from the Dardanian Gates now the embers that would usher him to the Gates of Hades. Never would anything be as much. Never could anything be as that scorching enmity from spear skilled hands, whose strength now held him and at once bid him from this realm, gripped the armour that was their own to hold their prey close, skewered upon merciless shaft. 

“Grant only to me this: return to Illium this body of mine that I might in death receive my share of fire.” It was all Hektor had ever asked of his slaughter crossed beloved: Fire. Even the flames of the funeral bier in consolation for the heat of strong arms and fierce words. 

Words as ruthless as that piercing weapon, still gripped tightly by the bodies of both men, “Would that my fury drive me to carve your flesh and devour you myself for what you have done, yet this I promise you: No man shall scatter the dogs and carrion from your corpse, no gold shall buy your body back to the walls of Illium, no lamentations shall allow your mother to lay you upon pyre and grieve. You will be consumed utterly by the beasts of the blood soaked field.”

Sorrow tinged soul weakened its grip in bittersweet lament.

_ O Iron hearted one, I grieve for you already, as surely as I grieve for Illium, for my brothers - though they will speed you to me - I will wait on the shores of the Acheron for your pursuit, as I have waited across these plains. Where the shades of men walk and the memories of this enmity might wash from us, I will wait.  _

Unspoken oaths veiled behind finer words left his blood chafed lips, dark eyes beholding for as long as they might the unforgiving gaze of the wolf before the sight of that burning sun too fell from his soul’s grasp.


End file.
